Une Journée Pour Se Souvenir
by Dublin O'Malley
Summary: It's Valentine's Day and Dean gears up for the hoard of couples that are sure to come. What he isn't prepared for is the gorgeous, dark-haired stranger sitting by himself  and looking perfectly content to do so  DESTIEL M for later
1. The Pen Drop

**Une Journée Pour Se Souvenir**

**Chapter 1 : The Pen Drop  
><strong>

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><p><strong>The translation of the story title is: A Day To Remember<strong>

**Well, this is the one that received the most votes. I personally wanted to do the college one, but this is what you guys want and I'm warming up to the idea. Keep in mind that I speak a very small amount of French. If there are any mistranslations, correct me please. All right, enjoy the story (:**

**Lately, I've been re-watching Dawson's Creek and now I can't imagine Dean without his adorably long hairstyle…so that's the kind of haircut he has in the story.**

**Oh and please note that I've changed Anna's appearance and age, just because I wanted a plump old lady to be Dean's mother figure (:**

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><p><strong><span>Songs of the Chapter:<span>  
>1901- Birdy<br>Remember When- Alan Jackson  
>What Do You Say- Reba McEntire<strong>

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><p>"<em>Un, deux, trois! Félicitations à l'heureux couple!" <em>

Dean Winchester inwardly groaned. That would be the third proposal of the night, and it was only six o'clock. He didn't know how much more he could take. Normally, he envied those people, the ones who made googly eyes at each other from across the table and grinned like idiots. He wanted that. He wanted someone he could hold hands with, smile adoringly at. Someone he could kiss in public and feel no shame. But Cupid's arrow always misses him and hits the closest living thing.

Dean slammed a wine glass a little too forcefully onto his server's tray and earned a few curious glances from the restaurant's occupants. He smiled at them, the same fake smile he'd used for four years now.

_Le chapeau Français, _the fanciest French restaurant in all of downtown New York. They were constantly packed and today wasn't any better. In fact, it was considerably worse. Valentine's Day. The day every staff member, including the manager, Balthazar, dreaded. It took every ounce of Dean's strength to drag himself out of bed that morning.

Now that the excitement of the engagement had worn off, everyone was shuffling back to their seats, ready to enjoy their meals of what was considered the best food in New York. And Dean couldn't argue. What he'd had a chance to taste had practically thrown his taste buds into a coma. Dean had never tasted anything so good in his life, and that was just the scraps from someone's unfinished _patisserie._

Unbeknownst to his fellow employee's, Dean was exceptionally short on money. He lived in a shabby apartment that had three rooms: the bathroom, the kitchen and the bedroom that he shared with his younger brother, Sam. The kitchen also served as a workspace. Dean was attempting to get a degree in psychology.

He'd been fascinated with the subject since his brother was diagnosed as a manic-depressive schizophrenic. Ever since the doctor had told him that, he'd frantically searched for a college that would accept his grades. He wanted to prove to those people that they were wrong, that Sammy was just depressed. A big part of him prayed that his suspicions were true; that Dr. Harvelle had misinterpreted Sam's situation.

"Boy! Excuse me!" Dean was yanked from his thoughts by an older man in maybe his early sixties. Dean immediately started to mentally size him up. Maybe it was his psych-knowledge kicking in, but he could already tell the man was prone to anxiety attacks. By the way his hands shook, to the way his eyes never stayed in one spot for more than ten seconds, Dean knew it as easily as if the man himself had told him. But, judging from the scars on his wrinkled face, he'd been a victim of the old bitch PTSD. Most likely a war veteran.

Dean crossed smoothly to the man's table, where his wife glared adamantly at him.

"Howard! Don't yell at the boy!" she scolded. She turned to Dean and smiled. "I apologise for my husband's behavior. We're ready to order."

Dean pulled out the small pad of paper and removed his pen from behind his ear. "Certainly, Mrs…"

"Delores. Delores DeBeuford." She held out her hand and Dean shook it, kissing er knuckles like the gentleman he was raised to be. He didn't know what it was, but there was something about older people that he loved. They were wise, witty and he was convinced that every elderly woman out there had a brick in her purse.

"Certainly, Mrs. DeBeuford. And what would you and your husband like to drink? We have a fine selection of wine," said Dean, smiling crookedly down at her.

"Please, call me Delores. I'd just like white wine, thank you. Howard, what will you have?" Delores turned to her husband, who was scowling at his plate like a classic grumpy old man that was dragged out of the house to eat dinner with his wife.

"White wine," he grumbled. Delores glared at him and gave a huffy sigh. She turned back to Dean.

"Just red wine for the both of us, then." Dean nodded and turned to walk away but felt a hand tug on the sleeve of his white dress shirt. Delores pulled him down to whisper in his ear. "Water his down," she said. Dean struggled not to laugh and pressed his lips together.

"Of course, the wine was imported straight from France." Dean winked at her as he turned around. He heard her give a giggle and smiled. He carried his tray into the kitchen and snatched two clean glasses from the rack and a bottle of their fantastic red wine. As he poured the glasses, he noticed Gabriel Novak, the cook, smirking at him.

"You never turn it off, do you, Deano?" he said, expertly slicing a head of lettuce into the right sized pieces.

"Turn what off?" Dean asked, pouring the two glasses and adding the extra water to Howard's.

"That charm of yours. I swear, one of these days, some woman is gonna take it the wrong way and then you're gonna be in trouble. You know what they say, all the good ones are either straight, taken or ugly." Gabriel dumped a pile of carrots into a large pot and waggled his spoon at Dean to emphasise his point. "And you, Mr. Man Candy, fall into none of those categories."

Dean laughed and shook his head. "Gabe, you'd make one Hell of a talk show host," said Dean as he pushed through the kitchen door and back into the main restaurant.

"You know it, Doll Face!" Dean smiled and let the door swing shut behind him.

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><p>Castiel Collins read the menu curiously. He'd never been to <em>Le Chapeau Français<em>, though he'd been meaning to find out for himself if the food was as good as its reviews claimed. He unconsciously nudged his glasses, pushing them up from their precarious perch on the tip of his nose.

So far, Castiel was enjoying the atmosphere of the restaurant. There had been three proposals already and Castiel had clapped for every newly engaged couple. But part of him longed to be the one saying 'yes' and jumping into his partner's arms. But another, slightly larger part told him he should be content enough by himself. And if he was to be honest, he was. He liked solitude.

Solitude wasn't the same thing as loneliness, not even close. Loneliness suggested the need for another and feeling dejected or depressed when that other person didn't come along soon enough. Solitude was quite the opposite. Solitude was the need to _be _alone with one's thoughts. Castiel preferred his thoughts to the company of others. But still, that small part of him wanted that other person that he could wake up next to every morning, instead of a cold mattress.

He sighed and set his menu down, pulling his billfold from the pocket of his tan blazer. He opened it and gently slid the picture from its spot behind his driver's license. He ran a finger down the face of the person smiling back at him. He missed her dearly, it had been so long since he'd last seen her. He placed the picture back inside his billfold and folded his hands on the table, silently observing the large restaurant.

The heavy burgundy drapes nicely complimented the cream and wine colour scheme. Blue was more his taste, but he appreciated the atmosphere the colours created, anyway.

A waiter was making his rounds, setting out new wine glasses on each table. Castiel noticed he seemed a bit withdrawn. It wasn't like him to stare, but Castiel couldn't help but notice the rugged handsomeness that was accompanied with an equal amount of grace as he swiftly, in a rather practiced manner, placed each glass on the table. Castiel was surprised the glasses didn't shatter. He could see the taught muscle beneath the waiter's burgundy vest and white dress shirt. He tore his eyes away, feeling his face heat a bit. Why was he suddenly so drawn to this stranger?

Castiel picked up his menu and resumed reading it, soon forgetting about the handsome stranger as he tried to think back to his high school French classes. Castiel was by no means a dim-witted man, but at that moment, he was thankful that each dish had a picture beside its name.

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><p>Dean turned and checked each table. He sighed when he noticed he'd missed one near the back of the room. As he wound his way through the tables though, he stopped short. Dean's breath caught in his throat as he laid eyes on the gorgeous man that occupied the back table.<p>

His dark hair was tousled in a way that closely resembled sex-hair. But Dean's eyes didn't stop there. They took in the lightly muscled frame hidden beneath a tan blazer, blue dress shirt and a white tie. The man's glasses balanced hazardously on the tip of his nose as he read the menu. A small line of concentration creased his forehead and Dean couldn't help but sympathise. He knew the feeling. When he'd first gotten the job, he'd avoided ready the menu as much as possible. Now, he knew a considerable amount of French, thanks to Gabriel and Balthazar and Anna, the plump, rosy-cheeked mother to them all. She'd been there long before Dean began working there, but she was the closest thing he had to a mother and he loved her as if she really were.

She kept track of supplies and chatted happily with Gabriel while he cooked. She also helped Dean with his rent, even though he'd tried to refuse, but she had practically shoved the money down his throat. Now, it was an unspoken tradition for the two. Anna would give him an envelope with two-hundred dollars inside to pay his rent, bills and Sam's medication. Dean knew he needed it, so he didn't argue when she left it in his coat pocket in Balthazar's office.

Dean realised he'd been standing there, staring at the stranger like an idiot and swallowed, looking at his feet, before shuffling forward. He nervously approached the gorgeous stranger's table placed a wine glass in front of him.

The man glanced up and closed the menu, giving Dean a warm and dazzling smile. Dean swallowed again.

The stranger's smile faltered a bit at Dean's silence and Dean mentally slapped himself upside his head. The guy probably thought he was mental!

"Uh, good evening. My name's, uh, Dean and I'll be your server tonight," Dean fumbled. He mentally cringed at how stupid he sounded.

"Castiel," he said, holding out a hand. Dean shook it cautiously, ignoring the sparks of electricity he received from those calloused fingers.

"Nice to meet you," Dean mumbled. "What would you like to drink?" Dean removed the small pad of paper and pen from behind his ear. His hands were shaking so bad that the pen slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor. Immediately, Dean bent to pick it up. Unfortunately, so did Castiel.

Dean let out a grunt of surprise as his forehead connected with Castiel's. Castiel did the same and clapped a hand to his forehead as his glasses fell to the floor.

Dean fell backwards onto his arse and felt his cheeks flame bright red. He quickly scrambled to his feet and snatched Castiel's glasses from the floor.

"I am so sorry!" said Dean, placing them in Castiel's hand. Castiel waved a hand at him, his other still clutching his forehead.

Castiel chuckled. "Don't worry about it, Dean. See, they're not even scratched." Castiel pointed to his glasses and smiled.

But Dean was still mortified. "No, let me buy you your dinner or something, to make up for it." Oh shit. Now he'd done it. He couldn't afford to buy this guy's dinner, but his brain was too slow at the moment to keep up with what his mouth was saying.

"Really, it's not-"

"Please." Dean gave him an unintentionally pained look. Castiel swallowed and frowned.

"All right."

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><p>Dean wanted to buy him dinner. Castiel couldn't understand it. All he'd done was bumped heads with the other man. But Dean seemed anxious to make it up to him and he wasn't taking no for an answer.<p>

Dean waited patiently by Castiel's table, looking increasingly worried. Castiel looked up from his Caesar salad (the cheapest thing on the menu) and met Dean's impossibly green eyes. The other man quickly looked away, his tanned cheeks tinted pink.

"Why don't you have a seat, Dean? I shouldn't be too long," Castiel said, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. Dean obliged and sat, looking everywhere but at him. Castiel took a bite of his salad and swallowed, never taking his eyes off Dean. It was a bad habit of his. It was probably due to the fact that that's what he'd been doing for the past five years; studying people for his major in psychology.

Castiel finished the last of his salad and wiped his mouth on his napkin. Dean stood and took Castiel's plate and glass. He took his billfold out of his pocket and looked inside with dejected eyes. He bit his lip and set the money on the table. The salad was about twenty dollars, expensive but manageable. But to Castiel, the look on Dean's face when he had to place that money on the table made it look like he was handing over half a million.

Castiel grasped Dean's wrist as he turned to walk away. Castiel stood. "Thank you, but no. I'm not going to let you pay for my food." Dean opened his mouth to speak but Castiel interrupted him. "No buts." Dean's vibrant green gaze locked on Castiel's bright blue one. Castiel's hand (of its own accord) reached up and tucked Dean's bangs back behind his ear.

"C-Castiel?"

Castiel dropped his hand and stepped back, not exactly sure what had just transpired between them, but it frightened him. He backed away and threw a twenty on the table.

"Goodbye, Dean, nice to meet you," said Castiel, rushing out of the restaurant, leaving Dean to watch his retreating back.

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><p><strong>Well? Was it what you expected? I'm taking a bit of a hiatus on The Innocent, now that I have the proposal out of the way. Gotta let the Muse shape the idea. <strong>

**Trnaslations:**

**_Un, deux, trois! Félicitations à l'heureux couple! - One, two, three! Congratulations to the happy couple!_**

**_Le Chapeau Français- The French Hat_**

**Thanks for reading everyone! This is what you all voted for, so I hope it's all right! (:**

**Shave Less, Braid More,  
>Dublin O'Malley<strong>

XOXOX


	2. Peace of My Mind

**Just gonna say this really quick…fuck you all, DEAN'S HAIR IS BLOOONNNDDD (well, at least to me) And I'd just like to know, did this story turn out how you all thought it would?**

** I have an excruiciating migraine from this god-awful sinus infection…well, a plus is I can't smell and my Da is cooking tonight. His making 'Adam's Surprise'. Basically, it's corn beef hash, which is normally good, but when you add eggs and pancakes in…it's just an abomination. **

**What's the worst breakfast you guys have ever eaten?**

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><p><strong><span>Une Journée Pour Se Souvenir<span>**

**Chapter 2: Peace of My Mind**

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><p><strong><span>Songs of the Chapter:<span>**

**The A-Team (Ed Sheeran Cover)- Birdy  
>The Generous Mr. Lovewell- MercyMe<br>Give Me Your Eyes- Brandon Heath **

Castiel fiddled with his hands in his lap, listening to the sounds of taxis and barking dogs. The sounds of New York. Castiel loved it and wouldn't trade it for anything. Well, almost anything. He pulled his bill fold out of the pocket of his dark leather jacket (his tan blazer had been an emergency, he normally saved it for teaching), unwinding his blue scarf from around his neck. He pulled out her picture again.

He missed Bela. Sure, she was arrogant, egotistic and completely aware of it, but she was still Castiel's sister and he loved her anyway. She had a good side, but most people didn't stick around long enough to actually see it. And now, she was off in a psychiatric hospital getting her mental issues sorted out. He missed her and her loud banging every morning. Bela wasn't a terrible cook, but she liked to make noise when she did. She was like Castiel's personal alarm clock. Now, Castiel woke up to an empty, silent apartment.

Bela's admittance to the psychiatric hospital had shaken Castiel and he'd immediately started studying psychology in an attempt to extend his understanding about what was happening with his sister. He was getting somewhere, but he still was far from understanding schizophrenia. He briefly caressed her smiling face in the picture and tucked it back into his wallet. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the bus bench.

He couldn't afford a car, not just yet. He was getting close, but having to keep sending money to Bela's psychiatric ward was emptying his pockets rather fast. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his black chinos (which were, in Castiel's opinion, the most comfortable pair of pants on Earth). He was glad to be wearing normal clothes instead of his blazer, which was actually quite comfortable, black slacks and black dress shoes. He was glad his toes could breathe. When he'd attended the restaurant, he hadn't bothered with changing, wanting to get a table before it was too late.

If he was in a good mood, he'd wear a tie.

_SCREECH! _

Castiel opened his eyes and stood, the city bus grinding to a stop in front of him. He dug in his pockets for his bus card and stepped through the bullet-proof plastic doors.

"'Morning, Cassie. Having a good day so far, honey?" Anita, the dark skinned, plump bus driver asked. Castiel rode the bus frequently so he was no stranger. He smiled.

"Good morning, Miss Anita. My morning's been lovely," answered Castiel, handing her his pass. She smiled at him and waved him on back.

As he moved to find his seat, always in the back, he spotted a familiar head of slightly tousled, slightly long, naturally highlighted sandy blond hair. He groaned inwardly.

This was going to be a fun ride.

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><p>Dean stared at his hands, careful not to make eye contact with Sam. He'd gotten in a fight with Sammy earlier that morning. Sam had been going on about some man named 'Michael' and how he was evil and would kill them all. Dean had told him to sit down, shut up and take his meds. Sam had refused to take them, clenching his lips tightly together until Dean tackled him to the ground and shoved it between his teeth. Then, Sam had shoved Dean off him and suggested they get some fresh air. And now, here they were.<p>

"Hey, D-Dean?" Sam's stuttering had been a problem for him as a kid and hadn't gotten any better as an adult, but Dean didn't mind and was used to it.

Dean turned his head slightly, looking up at Sam. "Yeah, Sam?"

Sam's lower lip trembled. "I'm s-s-sorry I wouldn't-t-t-take my p-p-pills. Is your hand ok-k-kay?" Sammy's puppy dog eyes were making themselves known and Dean couldn't help it, he grinned. He slung and arm around Sam's shoulders. His brother was like a child…a gigantic child. He understood Dean in ways no one else did, but Dean was the one that helped him through the day.

"Don't worry about it, Sammy. And my hand's fine, you big girl," said Dean, ruffling his baby brother's hair.

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><p>Castiel sat in his seat and tried his hardest not to look at Dean with his arm around that gigantic man's shoulders. Dean smiled up at him with a genuine smile, eyes shining with something that Castiel would call love if he'd ever felt it. Castiel sighed and looked away, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck and zipping his jacket higher. He crossed his arms and closed his eyes, settling back in his seat.<p>

"Um, this seat taken?"

Castiel's eyes snapped open and he looked up into the face of Dean. His breath hitched as he watched Dean's bangs fall into his face. His hand twitched, as if to move and brush them from his face. He held back. He'd only known Dean for barely four hours.

He smiled. "I suppose not," said Castiel. Dean sat next to Castiel, who glanced over at the large man. He was currently fiddling with an iPod, his brow furrowed in concentration. Suddenly, he looked up. He smiled and Dean and Castiel and gave a small wave. Castiel waved back uncertainly, giving a confused smile before turning back to Dean.

"If you don't mind my asking, who is that?" asked Castiel, pointing to the other man.

"That's just Sammy," said Dean, smiling in the direction of Sammy.

"Sammy?" Castiel repeated slowly.

_Please, don't be his boyfriend. Or…oh, God, his husband. It's not totally unbelievable, Dean's good looking, and Sammy isn't too bad…_

"Castiel? Don't have an aneurism, okay? Sam's just my little brother," Dean said, patting Castiel's shoulder.

Castiel's eyebrows rose. "_Little _brother?" he asked, looking pointedly at Sam, who was currently taking up a lot of space with his well over six feet frame and obvious muscle.

Dean smiled. "Yeah, _little _brother. Don't ask me. When he turned sixteen, he shot up two feet and started pounding pavement like there was no tomorrow. We were just going out for some coffee. So, what brings you out this early?" Dean ignored his throbbing wrist and leaned back in his seat, watching Castiel push his glasses up his nose for the hundredth time.

Why was he out and about before noon? It wasn't normal for him, he normally slept late and stayed up late, a bad habit acquired from grading student papers and having late phone calls to students who were feeling a bit depressed.

Castiel shrugged. "Not entirely sure. I may just wander around then go visit my sister at the Manhattan Mental Hosp…" _Shit. _Now he'd done it. How had he let that one slip out? Barely anyone but Castiel and a few choice people and family members knew about Bela. Now, he'd gone and told some stranger. Castiel looked at Dean with wide eyes, his throat refusing to open and allow him to breathe. He'd always been too scared to tell people about it because he was afraid of judgment. Now, he might lose someone before he even found them.

Dean's face was expressionless as he looked over at Sam. Then, he stood and walked over by Sam and sat back down, leaning his mouth near the larger man's ear. Sam's face looked confused, then he gave a shy smile and glanced discreetly (or so he thought) at Castiel. He whispered in a low tone to Dean and shook his head. Dean ruffled Sam's hair and smiled. He stood and motioned for Sam to follow him. He shuffled behind Dean, hiding his face behind his shaggy brown hair.

He stopped in front of Castiel and looked at Dean with wide eyes. Dean nodded and smiled reassuringly. Sam turned back to Castiel and looked down at him through his bangs. He held out a large hand, the other shoved into his pocket. Castiel took it and smiled up at Sam.

"Hi, I'm S-S-Sam W-W-Winchester," he stuttered. It made Castiel smile wider. He shook Sam's hand.

"Nice to meet you, Sam. Castiel Collins. I work down at NYU," said Castiel. He noticed Sam's expression change from apprehension to relief.

"Interesting. Nice t-to meet y-y-you, t-too." Sam stood there for a moment before Dean stepped forward.

"Go on, Sammy, sit down, he's not going to bite." Dean sat Sam down on one side of Castiel while he sat on the other. Castiel turned to Dean and smiled. Dean winced and Castiel frowned.

"What?"

"Your forehead. I'm really sorry about that, man," said Dean, pointing to Castiel's forehead. Castiel touched the spot and felt a small lump. His eyebrows dipped.

"Oh, it's nothing don't worry about it," he assured him. They sat quietly, Sam going back to the iPod and Castiel watching the New York streets roll by.

"So, what do you teach?" asked Dean, fiddling with a fray on his weathered green jacket.

"Psychotherapy." Castiel's answer was quick, clipped and sounded like he absolutely didn't want to talk about it. Dean took the hint and looked at his hands in his lap.

"I'm studying psychology," said Dean quietly. Dean leaned over to look at Sam then sat back. The larger man had headphones in his ears, the volume up a little high but it didn't seem to bother him. His right leg bounced while his left foot tapped. Castiel recognized these things as signs of RLS, or Restless Legs Syndrome. Gah, he had to stop thinking, he was giving himself a headache with all this analyzing.

"Because of Sam?" asked Castiel, the look on Dean's face confirming his suspicions.

"Yes…and no. Sammy was diagnosed with," he paused and checked on Sam again. "…with manic depressive schizophrenia. But I know the doctors are wrong. I want to prove to them that my baby brother, that I have known all his life and have been with every step of the way, isn't schizophrenic. He's just depressed because of what happened to…to our dad." Dean looked at Castiel then, his green eyes burning passionately. In those green eyes, Castiel saw something that made his heart thump and his stomach knot together. He saw the love for his brother, the burn of the need to prove what he knew was right and a strength he didn't think could exist.

Castiel realised that their faces were much closer than before and pulled back, sighing and running a hand through his unruly dark hair. He felt drained just talking about this particular subject.

"Why do you teach, Castiel?"

Castiel tried his best to shrug. "I think it's interesting?" said Castiel, fiddling with his blue knit scarf.

"And I think that's bullshit. Pardon me for being nosey, but I think there's something more to it. I think that deep down, you're just like me. Just trying to find answers to the things that we believe in." Dean paused and leaned closer to Castiel. "Honestly, I don't care if you've only known me for a day or an hour. I'd rather know that I'm not the only person in the world who feels this way than worry about whether or not I'm invading someone's personal space."

Castiel turned and gave Dean a hard stare. "Do you really want the truth?" Dean nodded firmly. "I mentioned earlier that I may be going down to Manhattan MH. I teach psychology because Bela, the only person I am remotely close to, is sitting in a white room. I may be going to visit her today. I may not be. I have no idea if I can summon the courage to go see my schizophrenic sister. Are you happy now, Dean? Have you found your place in the world now, because you heard some man's private thoughts?" His voice had been getting gradually louder and Castiel noticed some people watching. He stared at them pointedly until they turned away.

Castiel turned away from Dean then, his heart clenching from speaking about Bela. He never did. Never. It was just something he couldn't handle talking about. He tried to swallow down the lump in his throat.

There was a hand on his shoulder. Castiel turned to Dean with wide eyes, looking exactly like someone who was trying not to cry. And Castiel was trying very hard. His blue eyes were wet, his lower lip stiff.

Dean's emerald eyes softened. "Look, Castiel, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I…" Dean looked away and took a steadying breath. "…I just wanted to know there was someone else. Everyone turns me and Sammy away because we're different. I'm gay and he's supposedly crazy, not exactly the best friends to have."

Castiel ran a hand through his hair, discreetly wiping at his eyes. "It's fine. Don't trouble yourself, it's a very sensitive subject; talking about Bela. I don't get to see her often." Castiel glanced over at Sam, who was currently trying to knock over a wood structure with cartoon birds. Castiel recognized the game as 'Angry Birds', something his students found enormously entertaining, but he found mildly irritating.

"No, at least let us take you out for coffee." Dean stretched an arm behind Castiel and tapped Sam's shoulder. The larger man was too engrossed in his game. Dean made a noise in the back of his throat and leaned farther, his chest pressing firmly into Castiel's shoulder. Castiel ignored the hard muscles pressing into him and crossed his arms, distracting himself with the man a few seats down trying to calm down his fussy baby. Castiel's heart melted a bit as the man cooed adoringly at the infant, making it giggle and squirm in its blanket.

"Sammy!" Dean said, yanking a headphone from his brother's ear. Sam turned with a look of concern, his dark eyebrows drawing together.

"What, Dean?" Sam asked, placing the iPod in Dean's coat pocket.

"Is it all right with you if Castiel tags along?" asked Dean. Sam nodded and smiled at Castiel, who returned it best he could with a slightly heavy Dean Winchester practically lying a across his back. Dena noticed this and leaned back a smile on his face.

Castiel opened his mouth to protest but Dean shushed him. "Nuh-uh. You're coming with us. I still have to make up for Tuesday," said Dean, resting an arm casually over Castiel's shoulders. This Dean was a bit more open than the Dean he'd met at the restaurant, but he didn't mind.

"Fine." Castiel crossed his arms and sat back in his seat, praying that this day would go well.

But Murphy's Law tends to be a bitch.

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><p><strong>Do you guys know Murphy's Law?<br>'What can go wrong will'.  
>My mother has said that to me ever since I was little…and damn if it isn't true. That shit is Karma on speed. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed chapter numero dos! :D<strong>

**It was bit hard because I watched 8 Mile for 9 billionth time this morning and I keep seeing Rabbit (Jimmy) riding the bus with that song playing my head…so yeah, if you see a Rabbit in there once or twice, just ignore it! ^-^**

**Shave Less, Braid More,  
>Dublin O'Malley<strong>

XOXOX


	3. Red Light District

**I'm warming up to this story. (: Not much to say other than…don't hate me. Okay? It went well with the ans I SWEAR TO GOD I AM WORKING ON _The Innocent_. Like I said, I have to let the Muse pre-chew before she spoon feeds, all right?**

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><p><strong><span>Une Journée Pour Se Souvenir<span>**

**Chapter 3: Red Light District**

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><p><strong><span>Songs of the Chapter:<span>  
>No Sound But the Wind- Editors<br>The Ladder- Andrew Belle  
>What New York Used To Be- The Kills<strong>

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><p>"That coffee good, Sammy?" Dean asked his younger brother as he sipped away at his cinnamon spice latte. Sam nodded and hummed in approval, tipping the cup to shake the last few drops into his mouth. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and sighed contentedly, leaning back in his chair, one hand resting on his stomach. Dean grinned lopsidedly at him then turned back to Castiel, whose eyebrows were somewhere near Mercury.<p>

"I'm getting the feeling that your brother likes his coffee," said Castiel, sipping at his own plain, black coffee with sugar. Dean's was the same.

Dean smirked. "Your feeling's right. I made the mistake of introducing it to him at thirteen…" Dean grimaced. "Not the best Thanksgiving dinner I've ever had." Castiel snorted into his cup.

Castiel's black, steel framed glasses were becoming fogged from the combined steam of his drink and the cold February air. He took them off and folded them onto the hemline of his white T-shirt. With the world blurry, Castiel prayed Dean wouldn't want to go for a walk. He'd probably run everyone down with all his stumbling if he wasn't wearing his window-thick glasses.

"So, Mr. Professor, why aren't you up at NYU?" Dean asked, idly watching a child scare the living white-shit out of a flock of pigeons by throwing stones at them. He smiled. He used to be that kid.

"Tuesdays and Thursdays are my workdays. The rest of the week I'm off and I'm allowed to walk around in regular shoes," Castiel said, waving the toe of his boot at Dean. "Doc Martens never went out of style. Just…upgraded." His Doc Marten Reeds were the nicest pair of shoes he owned. Well, considering he only owned three pairs of shoes; a pair of brown fake-suede dress shoes, black dress shoes and his current footwear, that wasn't saying much. But still, they were fantastically comfortable and went with nearly everything he owned.

Dean laughed. "I agree." He moved his leg out from under the table and showed Castiel his own pair of classic boots. His had a bit more leather and weight, but they still worked with Dean. They sat in comfortable silence, Sam tapping away at the iPod he'd snatched from Dean's coat pocket.

Dean blew into his hands then rubbed the back of his neck, flipping up the collar of his windbreaker. Castiel frowned and unwound his scarf from around his neck, placing it gently over Dean's. Dean turned to him and Castiel wrapped it around twice.

"There, now you don't look like you're suffering from hypothermia," Castiel said, pointing to Dean's blue lips. Dean smiled to mask his shock at the affectionate gesture. He felt his neck muscles loosen as the warmth from Castiel's scarf seeped into his cold skin.

"T-Thanks, Cas," said Dean, shoving his hands in the warmest place he could think of; between his knees. Castiel couldn't take it anymore, he laughed. To him, Dean looked positively pitiful, but gorgeous nonetheless. Castiel abruptly stopped laughing and chewed on this. He thought Dean was gorgeous?

Well, why wouldn't he? Dean was good looking, Castiel couldn't deny it. He was evenly muscled, tanned and his personality was fantastic. Though they weren't of great import, Dean's freckles were probably the only thing that struck Castiel as 'adorable'. Dean Winchester was, as Bela would say, 'all man'.

"What's s-so funn-ny?" stuttered Dean, teeth knocking together.

"You," replied Castiel, standing and offering a hand to Dean. "Come on, let's get you inside before your fingers fall off." Dean gripped Castiel's hand as he stood, careful not to knock over any of the close-packed tables and chairs.

Sam watched it all, slightly amused.

* * *

><p>"G-Geez, can't they turn up the h-h-h -HACHOO!-heat?" Dean sneezed loudly, earning the attention of a few people in the back of the small café. Dean shot them glares until they turned away. He sniffed.<p>

Castiel handed Dean a napkin that could serve as a tissue. He earnestly placed his hand on Dean's arm and rubbed, creating friction that would hopefully warm him up. He hadn't stopped shivering for well over five minutes. Dean turned his head to Castiel and smiled gratefully. Castiel shrugged off his coat and placed it on Dean's shoulders, his body heat immediately warming Dean. He was still wearing Castiel's scarf.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen! Are you ready to order?" a perky blonde waitress gushed. She made Castiel's head hurt.

Sam said, "I'd li-k-ke the c-c-cinnamon t-t-t-toast, please." The waitress nodded and scribbled something on her pad, barely glancing at Sam. Her eyes were trained on Castiel, who noticed Dean's jaw clench.

"How about you?" she asked, batting her eyelashes and leaning forward a little more than necessary, giving Castiel an unwanted view of her cleavage. He kept a straight face and shook his head. Dean shivered beside him, but at least his lips had returned to a more natural color.

Gesturing to Dean, Castiel said, "If you would please look past your fake eyelashes and notice that this man is in need of more assistance than I, my respect for you may reach a better level. Instead of flaunting yourself at a strange man, whose intentions you know nothing of, I would be pleased if you could take my friend's order." Castiel's tone was calm, controlled and sounded exactly like he wanted to slam his fist into the wall. Dean glanced between Castiel and the waitress, who was gaping at him.

She swung her head towards Dean, who was surprised steam wasn't coming out her ears. "Fine, then! What the fuck do you want, sir?" she spat.

Dean, well-rehearsed in the act of controlling his emotions, smiled up at her from his place in the booth. "Bacon cheeseburger, please, hold the onions." He smirked when her eyes narrowed and she scribbled something on the pad.

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir," she seethed and stalked off.

Dean sneezed and pulled Castiel's jacket closer around him, surprised by the scent that rolled off the worn leather. It smelled like wet stone, something resembling rosemary, and lemons. It was thick on the coat, but not heady like the cheap cologne that most guys wore these days.

Dean saw Sam twisting his fingers in his lap, which meant there was something bothering him. Dean turned to face his little brother.

"What's on your mind, Sammy?" asked Dean, gently pulling Sam's hands away from each other, his fingers turning purple from being twisted around.

"I h-hate my st-st-stuttering," Sam quietly stated, his head down, hair falling in his face.. Dean cocked his head to the side then reached out and brushed Sam's bangs away, showing his pitiful pout. Dean's gaze softened and he stood and wrapped his arms around his little brother.

"Sammy, don't say that. I know it's tough," said Dean, pulling away and brushing Sam's hair off his forehead.

"I know y-y-you d-do, D-Dean. But I d-d-don't like the w-w-way p-people look-k at me after th-th-they hear m-me t-t-talk," Sam said. "Like th-there's s-s-s-something wrong w-with me."

Dean pursed his lips. "There isn't a single thing wrong with you, Sam. Now, knock off that talk and throw a couple birds, okay?"

Sam nodded and Dean handed him the iPod. Dean ruffled his hair.

"Love you, Sammy."

"Thanks, Dean." And then Sam was tilting the iPod this way and that, just like Castiel remembered doing on his Nintendo. He didn't have an iPod. He had a phone, no social life and a nice quiet apartment…good enough.

Dean sat back down next to Castiel. Castiel smiled. "That was pretty good," he said. Dean shrugged.

"Sam's not the most confident person on the planet, so I have to help him through things sometimes," said Dean, rubbing his arms, hoping to warm himself the rest of the way. It felt like cold air was blowing directly onto him. He looked up and cursed, glaring at the vent above their heads.

"Common sense; there is no abundance of it here," Dean muttered. Castiel smiled and put an arm around Dean. He generally ran at a temperature, something that frustrated his doctors, and he knew he'd be able to provide some warmth.

Dean gasped as Castiel's warm arm touched the cold skin on the back of his neck.

"Jesus, you're hot." Dean froze, eyes wide, as he realized what he'd just said. "I-I uh, I…erm…"

"Relax, Dean. Sorry I'm so warm. I'm generally about one-hundred. I got it from my Da. My mom always said he was a bit of a hot-head." Castiel nudged Dean, who smiled, leaning into Castiel's warm arm.

* * *

><p><p>

"And he said "Sir, the steering wheel's on the left side."

Castiel nearly choked on his pop as he snorted into his cup. Dean grinned at Castiel's reaction to his lame joke. The watch on Dean's wrist beeped and he jumped. He squinted at the numbers and groaned.

_"12 o'clock, time to go,_" he thought.

"Cas, I'm really sorry to end this, but me and Sam have to head up to Lenox Hill." Dean stood and slipped Castiel's jacket off his shoulders, reluctantly handing it over.

"W-W-Will w-we see y-you again, C-C-Castiel?" Sam asked, shrugging on his own tan jacket.

Castiel thought about it then glanced at Dean. "That depends. Do you want to see me again?"

Dean smiled. "Of course. Here's our address. Stop by sometime, Sam makes great enchiladas," Dean said. Dean scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to Castiel. He took it and stuck it in his pocket.

"I'll be sure to."

"B-Bye, C-C-Castiel."

"Goodbye, Sam, Dean."

* * *

><p><p>

Castiel sat at the booth for about thirty minutes more, trying to figure out how to spend the rest of his day. He could go see Bela, but he wasn't sure he was up for that. He could hang around the bus stop like the loner he was, but even he had dignity. He sighed, library it is. He had to log on to his private student (he hated the term patient, he preferred student, and it was more civil) forums anyway, catch up on how they were doing.

He slipped his arms through the sleeves of his coat and felt something was off. The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose and he turned to see the waitress from earlier watching him with a smugly satisfied expression. His eyebrows drew together in a frown, but he otherwise ignored her.

As Castiel stepped outside the shop, he saw a note taped to the bus shelter.

**_'Bus #362 is out of commission. Please use the bus stop at 100 Broadway in front of Borders. Our sincerest apologies for any inconvenience.'_**

Castiel glared at that paper as if he could burn a hole through it. He sighed, defeated in his staring contest and hunched his shoulders against the choppy wind that was picking up, throwing abandoned newspapers here and there.

He came to the cross section and saw the long line of cars. If you've ever lived in the good ol' NYC, you know that it's you or them. But frankly, Castiel didn't feel like fearing for his life, so he turned around and walked back to the coffee shop, slipping into the old alley on its left. The alley was narrow and he had to climb over an abandoned Dumpster to continue through. But other than that, it was a particularly clean alley. There were no homeless men, no lost pets and a small amount of trash.

_Thud. Tap. _

Castiel froze mid-stride, halfway down the alley. He turned and saw a hulking figure walking behind him.

_Nothing to worry about. Maybe other people use this as a shortcut, too. Calm down, calm down, calm dow-_

"Hey, you! Just hold on a second!" Castiel turned and saw it was a man, and he was very close. Castiel's heart hammered in his chest as the giant man closed the distance between them. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten. Shit.

Castiel turned and ran. He didn't know why, but his instincts were telling him to _get the Hell out of there_.

Thunderous footsteps followed close behind and Castiel willed himself to run faster. The footsteps were getting closer.

Castiel had never been good at sports, save for wrestling, maybe. But wrestling wouldn't do him any good in a fight with a guy twice his size. State Champion or not, Castiel feared for his life.

A hand snatched his shirt collar and he was jerked to a stop, letting out a gurgle as he was hauled backwards.

Suddenly, he was in the face of a man he had never seen in his life. He had no recollection of him. And he would have remembered this man, with his scarred face and beefy stature.

He held Castiel by his shirt, causing his feet to dang a few centimeters above the ground.

"Who are-" Castiel was slammed into the brick wall of the alley. "-you?" he groaned.

"Your worst nightmare. You think you can just insult Jenny and get away with it? Huh, Jackass? Answer me!" He pulled Castiel back and slammed him back into the wall, knocking the air out of his lungs.

"I-I don't know!" Castiel gasped. The stranger pulled his fist back and slammed it into Castiel's middle. Castiel cried out in pain, dropping to his knees as the man released his shirt. He was relieved to be on solid ground. But his relief was short lived as a knee connected with his nose, knocking him onto the pavement where he sprawled face down on the dirty cement.

He got to his hands and knees, spitting out dirt and blood. Hard rubber sole slammed into his side, knocking him to the ground again. His chest felt like it was on fire, his mouth filled with thick, salty blood and grime. He spat and coughed onto the concrete, his breaths rattling out of his chest raggedly.

A foot stomped on his ankle and Castiel screamed, the pain white hot. A kick to the stomach. A kick to his face. A kick to his ribs. He heard so many things cracking, he was surprised he hadn't dissolved into a puddle of skin and shattered bones.

"You-" A hand yanking him up by his hair, a slap stinging his already swollen cheek. "-will not. Insult-" A knee in his stomach, knocking the wind from him yet again. He coughed and spluttered, only to cry out in agony from the burning in his chest. –Jenny again." Slap. "Understand? DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?" He screamed into Castiel's face. Castiel whimpered and nodded, unshed tears flowing down cheeks and stinging the cuts on his face.

"Good." Castiel was dropped to the cold pavement and he thought it was over. He was wrong. A swift kick was delivered to the back of his head, causing him to see stars, the world going fuzzy and grey. The ground beneath him shifted as he watched a pair of black Jackboots clumped towards him. He flinched as the stranger crouched down in front of him, an evil smirk twisting his mouth.

"Hey, pal. How you doing?" He tsk-tsked. "You don't look like you're doing too good. Well, nothing I can do for you," he said, standing up and shrugging. Castiel rolled his eyes upward to stare at him. The man gave him a lopsided grin. "Oh, one more thing." _WHAM! _Castiel's face was met with the solid rubber of his boot. He head snapped back and he felt the flesh above his lip that connected to his nose tear in two. Castiel's fingernails scrabbled on the cement as he convulsed in pain, blood running in his eyes and painting the lenses of his glasses a bright red. The glass was shattered beyond repair, the frame twisted and digging into his skull.

_Clump. Clump. _The Jackboots appeared again and the man peered down at him. He bent down by Castiel's ear and gently brushed his blood matted hair away.

"When you get to Hell, tell 'em Michael Novak sent ya. Sleep tight, don't let the homeless animals bite…but they might." And with that, Michael stood and walked away, roaring at his own joke.

That was the last sound Castiel heard as lost consciousness; the cold, bitter laughter of a heartless man and the echoing of Jackboots on cracked cement, a joyful whistle accompanying the two.

* * *

><p><strong>Wow. This was pretty long. To be honest, I saw it reaching 2,600 and I thought I should probably slow it down a bit. I don't want people to expect me to roll out 3,000 a chapter. It's a lot harder than it seems. People who actually write their own FanFics know how demanding it is. <strong>

**Anyway, I was gonna use Jimmy, not Michael, but it seemed a bit of an oxymoron. Jimmy adores God in SPN, and Michael…I'm not sure. But he's still a jackass. Hmm, I shall ponder this…**

**Anyway, you know the drill! :D**

**Reviews are accepted, not required, but loved.**

**Shave Less, Braid More,  
>Dublin O'Malley<strong>

**XOXOX**


	4. Break Me Down

**Hey, everyone! The Innocent's next chapter is coming along nicely…about 200 words a day. I…am a procrastinator. Big time. Anyway, I was watching Charmed again and I saw MISHA COLLINS! Tell you what, that was a nice surprise. And you know what? I've seen every single Charmed episode and I didn't know he was on there until yesterday. Gah, fuck you brain!**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Une Journée Pour Se Souvenir<span>**

**Chapter 4: Break Me Down  
><strong>

**Songs of the Chapter:  
>So Small- Carrie Underwood<br>People Help the People- Birdy  
>Crazy Enough- MercyMe<strong>

* * *

><p>Castiel hummed a song his grandma Eden used to sing to him as a little boy. He wasn't sure why he was, considering his throat was hoarse from coughing up mucus and blood.<p>

Hours earlier, Castiel had managed to pull himself up into a sitting position against a lone trash bag. He sat with his arms limp by his sides, glasses hanging crookedly off his face, crusted, dried blood flaking off his cheeks and hair. He was numb by then, the frigid February cold turning the pain into a dull ache. He couldn't move, but he was just fine with that. Just the journey from the ground to the trash bag had been excruciatingly painful.

Heavy footsteps thudded on the sidewalk at the mouth off the alley. Castiel's head lolled to the side as he looked. Every single passerby had overlooked him, probably dismissing him as a homeless man, clutching their shopping bags to their chests and hurrying along, even after he called out to them. Eventually, he stopped caring. No one was going to help him. He briefly wondered why that man…Michael…hadn't finished him off. Maybe that's what he was coming to do. Good.

The heavy footsteps came closer and Castiel gave it one last try.

"Help!" he croaked as loud as he possibly could. His cry echoed off the walls of the alley. He felt his split angel kiss tear again and let out a soft whimper. The footsteps stopped, then started, picking up the pace. In the dim light from the streetlamps, a figure appeared at the mouth of the alley. Castiel couldn't find the strength to lift his head as the person slowly approached him.

Flashes of jackboots appeared before his eyes and Castiel's sluggish heart rate quickened. The figure came to a stop in front of him, the light of the streetlamps silhouetting them against the night sky. Castiel looked up at them with pleading eyes.

"Please," he croaked. "Help me."

And then Castiel was dead to the world…again.

* * *

><p>"Sammy! Turn that shit down!" Dean shouted over the loud blaring of his brother's trashy music. He would never understand why Sam loved that damned flippy-haired, girl-voiced, Madonna in the making. It was one of the few things that made him ashamed of having Sam as a brother; another being…Sam shaved his legs. And am was the straight one.<p>

Dean hunched over his text book on the kitchen counter while his other hand stirred a pot of spaghetti on the stove.

_"Therapists who lean toward the cognitive branch will look at dysfunctions and difficulties as arising from irrational or faulty thinking. In other words, we perceive the world in a certain way (which may or may not be accurate) and this results in acting and feeling a certain…"_

Dean slammed his text book shut. He wasn't getting any of this. None of this crap was getting him any closer to his answers. All he'd learned so far was people are crazy in one way or another.

A knock on the front door pulled him from his grumpy thoughts and he quickly flicked off the stove.

"Hold on a second!" he shouted as he drained the spaghetti. He threw the dishtowel over his shoulder and wiped his hands on his pants before turning the lock and cracking open the door.

Anna stood outside in a heavy, multicolored shawl, bright red rain boots and a deep purple dress. She was definitely a sight to see with her graying hair piled high up on her head. She reminded Dean of an all grown up Punky Brewster. She was clutching her gigantic purse to her chest. She pushed past Dean and into the apartment without permission, something Dean normally wouldn't mind…if he was wearing a shirt. He hadn't bothered after his shower and had gone straight to studying/cooking. He also just wasn't particularly fond of wearing them.

"Anna? Something wrong?" Dean set the dishtowel on the counter next to the simmering spaghetti.

"Oh, dear. Yes, I'm afraid there is. Balthazar was out for his nightly jog, you know, because Gabriel told him he's been getting a bit of a belly-"

"Yes, Anna, I know," interrupted Dean, pushing her back on track.

"Well, he found a man lying in the alley beside the coffee shop on 92nd. He was badly beaten and barely conscious." Anna sat down heavily on the queen bed in the middle of the living room/study/bedroom and searched through her purse.

"Oh, shoot!" she said, stomping her foot. "I can't find my cell phone. There are so many things in here that don't need to be-AHA!" She stopped mumbling and held her phone triumphantly above her head. "Here it is!"

Dean watched, slightly amused as Anna pushed random buttons on the phone. Finally finding what she was looking for, Anna beckoned Dean forward. Dean stepped around a pair of Sam's rumpled sleep pants and his jacket (they weren't the tidiest people on the planet) and settled beside Anna on the bed.

She handed him the phone and Dean squinted at the old 2005 Nokia. As soon as his eyes focused on the screen, he nearly dropped the phone. On the screen was a person's face, barely recognizable through a mask of bruises and a painful looking split lip. There were bruises littering their neck. But Dean wasn't paying attention to the bruises. The scarf. That's what was missing.

Oh, God. It was Castiel.

* * *

><p>Castiel slowly blinked his eyes open, groaning as a harsh light burned across his vision. He moved his arm over his eyes and gasped at the sudden flare of pain. Where was he?<p>

"Thank God, you're awake. What the Hell, you don't carry a license in that wallet of yours?" Castiel's eyes snapped open as a crisp English accent spoke from somewhere to his right. Laboriously, Castiel turned his head and popped open an eye.

"Wha…where-who…what?" Castiel fumbled, his brain so foggy from the pain that he couldn't get a simple sentence out.

"He's an articulate fellow, isn't he?" The English man said, turning his head to someone out of sight.

A low chuckle sounded and Castiel propped himself up on his elbows, ignoring the stabbing pain in his chest. A man wearing a white apron spotted with numerous stains, with longish light brown hair was standing by his feet, chewing on a candy bar. Castiel's eyebrows drew together as he frowned; he was in a kitchen.

He was lying on a couch, one of his legs dangling off, his foot twisted at an odd angle. He seemed a bit too big for the couch.

"Why…am I in a kitchen?" Castiel felt something rip from his throat and let out a series of body wracking, burning coughs. He covered his mouth with his arm out of habit and when he pulled it away nearly passed out again. His jacket arm was coated in fresh blood. He fully sat up and continued his coughing fit.

"Gabriel! Don't just stand there, get the man some water!" the English man shouted and the brown haired man, Gabriel, hurriedly filled a glass with water from the sink.

Castiel gratefully accepted the glass. His shaking hands made it near impossible to get the water in his mouth. The glass clattered against his teeth and suddenly a hand was holding it steady. He looked up into the worried face of Dean.

Castiel's split lip throbbed at the touch of the water and he hissed, abruptly jerking away from the glass, feeling nearly every bone and muscle in his body scream in protest. He moaned and pulled his knees up to his chest, feeling his numb ankle flop uselessly. He buried his face in his arms and breathed heavily, hoping and praying to whoever was listening to please _make it stop_.

"Cas?" The cushion beside him dipped and Castiel moaned again, wheezing loudly as his chest continuously seized up. A hand was on his back, rubbing soothing circles. Castiel jerked away from the hand, everything hurting, the pain seeming endless. Rough sobs jerked from his chest, stinging the cuts on his face. Castiel fisted his hand in the fabric of his coat, probably straining a knuckle or two with the force of his grip.

"Castiel, you need to calm down. You're not helping yourself," said Dean. He sounded worried but Castiel couldn't stop.

"I-I ca-ca-can't-t," he stammered, rocking back and forth on the sofa. He was in unbearable pain, every sob like ripping open a stitch, every breath like pouring rubbing alcohol over the wound.

"C'mon, Gabe. Help me get him to the bathroom," Dean said. Two hands slid around his back and two others at his feet and he was being lifted off the couch. He nearly screamed in agony, a choked off sob the only thing able to find its way out of his raw throat.

"Balthazar, get your ass up there and run a bath."

"As you wish, master. I mean it's not like I'm your boss or anything. No, not at all," Balthazar grumbled.

"Balthazar!" Dean shouted.

"Fine, fine, I'm going. Keep your shirt on." Someone brushed by them and nudged Castiel's broken foot. His eyes snapped open and he shouted a string of obscenities.

"Just hang on, Cas, we're almost there," Dean said, taking great care not to jostle him. They awkwardly turned into the bathroom, Castiel hoped his leg wouldn't get rammed into the door or that his ear would catch on the door frame.

"All right, Gabe, carefully let go of his legs." Dean's grip on Castiel tightened and he felt horrible when Castiel whimpered in pain. Gabriel lightly set his feet on the linoleum of Balthazar's bathroom. He lived above the restaurant because it was cheaper rent.

The sound of running water filtered in above the loud pounding of Castiel's heart echoing in his ears.

"Gabe, get his boots off." Castiel felt a twisting at his ankle and jerked. His leg spasmed, unable to process so much pain at once.

"Fuck! Carefully!" Dean hissed. He gently slipped Castiel's blood stained jacket off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Dean fingered the collar of Castiel's white T-shirt and frowned.

"Balthazar, get the scissors. He's not gonna be able to move for me to get this stuff off ," said Dean, holding his hand out for the scissors, never looking away from Castiel's face. His eyes were shut tight in pain, his fists clenching and unclenching, his chest falling unevenly as he gasped and wheezed. Whoever had done this had seriously fucked him up.

Balthazar handed him the scissors and Dean cut Castiel's T-shirt down the back. He slid it off his shoulders and added it to the pile of Castiel's clothes. He looked up and saw Gabriel dropping Castiel's boots to the floor.

"Help me with his pants," Dean ordered. Gabriel nodded, for once his face deadly serious, not a hint of a smile.

Dean unbuckled Castiel's belt and helped Gabriel slide his pants down his legs. They dropped to the floor and Dean almost gagged at the sight of Castiel's mangled ankle. It was swollen in all the wrong places, purple, red and every other color in the spectrum. Gabriel looked away.

Dean used the scissors to cut away Castiel's undershirt, taking a deep breath and steeling himself for whatever he would see. And he saw a lot.

Dean didn't think a chest could swell, but Castiel's sure did. There were numerous patches of raw skin and bruises. What looked like road burn snaked up Castiel's right side. There was barely a hint of the pale, creamy skin he'd seen earlier. It was all mangled and bruised and sticking out at odd angles.

"I-Into the tub," Dean shuddered, feeling the bile rise in his throat in disgust and anger.

The three of them gingerly lifted Castiel into the old claw footed tub, slowly submerging his battered body into the lukewarm water.

Castiel's eyes snapped open and his back arched. He clawed at Dean's shirt, clutching at it as hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

"It hurts," he ground out, feeling Dean's hand slip into his own. He gripped it tight, feeling his body seize up again and again.

Looking at Castiel's fevered, bruised, blood crusted face, Dean wondered who could have done this and why. How could one person have caused so much damage? What had Castiel done to deserve a beating as severe as this? To deserve so much pain? Dean's chest hurt, looking at Castiel like this.

Castiel wasn't the confident, smart, funny guy he'd seen hours before. This man in front of him was crying, sobbing because someone had decided to beat the shit out of him for no apparent reason.

"Who did this to you?" Dean murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

"Michael…Novak. He-He was mad 'cause I insult-ted that-t wait-tress-s," Castiel stammered, gripping Dean's hand harder as violent coughs jerked his entire body. Dean blinked, surprised to feel tears well in his eyes. He pressed his knuckles to his trembling lips. Why was this affecting him so much?

Castiel groaned and turned his head, spitting blood into the water. He panted and wheezed.

"Dean, i-it hurts," he said again, turning those cerulean eyes on him. They were bright with tears and pain and agony.

Dean rubbed his thumb across the back of Castiel's hand. "I know, Cas," he said. "I know."

* * *

><p><strong> What the fuck is wrong with me? I must enjoy writing all this angst and tragedy and...UGH! Just shoot me now! <strong>

**Anyway, I have been jamming out to Lynyrd Skynyrd all afternoon and seriously putting off my Spanish project that's due on Tuesday...fuck. **

**Reviews are accepted, not required, but loved.**

**Shave Less, Braid More,**  
><strong>Dublin O'Malley<strong>

**XOXOX**


	5. Discontinuing?

Hey, my lovelies! Just a quick moment, no update, sorry. Because I have received a few complaints about this story (I don't blame you, it's becoming a bit lame), I may have to discontinue this one. I may also discontinue Grease Monkeys and Orange Aprons and Fields of Gold -I'm just doing too much at once-. If anyone would like to adopt these, I'd be just fine with that. PM me and I'll check you out)

**Please visit my profile page and vote for a new idea. **

This is a bad habit of mine and I apologise for any inconvenience. I have a strange way of going about things when it comes to writing. I'm a procrastinator with ADHD...yeah, my brain's fucked up. Anyway, visit my page and vote please! Send anymore suggestions you have to my inbox.

**Shave Less, Braid More,**  
><strong>Dublin O'Malley<strong>

**XOXOX**


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